Cibola Of The East
by Cougar Draven
Summary: Don't hurt me for leaving the cliffhanger, but I wanted to save the description for the next chapter!
1. The Search Begins

AN: Let's get this straight. I don't own the characters, and I'm sure you know that the name 667 is the same as my Pen Name. Oh well. Too damn bad. Now then, Hawkeye and B.J. are owned by somebody, I'm not sure anymore (damned Hallmark Channel!), but I'm using them. If you don't like supernatural shit, DON'T READ any further. As an explanation of the name Cibola, it is a vague description of an area with cities supposedly holding much in the way of riches. Some think it to be in New Mexico, some think it to be elsewhere. I personally believe present-day Las Vegas is built over it, but that's just me. I used the term "Cibola of the East" to describe Crabapple Cove, Maine. This is a story about two men determined to find this city.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: As far as I know and understand, the town of Crab Apple Cove, Maine, does not exist in the present day, but it did at one point, as H. Richard Hornberger was born in the town. I came up with this idea after just recently starting my own search for Cibola of the east.  
  
A/N 3: My writing involves *LONG* dialogue sessions. Get used to it.  
  
Chapter One: The Search Begins  
  
5/1/2002  
  
A man walked into a bar. I know, it's not the best of lines, but it is the only way to begin my long, hard tale. A man walked into a bar in southeast Michigan, with dozens of men and horses outside. I was in the bar when he walked in, and he happened upon the stool next to me, and when the bartender came over, he ordered a double martini. I asked for a refill of my Jack Daniel's. Then I spoke to the man.  
  
"What do you say?"  
  
"Not much."  
  
"I can see that. I saw you come in, and you've sure got a lot of men with you. Where you going?"  
  
"I'm on a journey."  
  
"Oh? Where to?"  
  
"Cibola."  
  
"Son, Cibola is a long ways away from this here part of the country."  
  
"Yeah, so?"  
  
"So, what highway you headed down to start?"  
  
"I figure I'll tkae the turnpike east from Toledo, after I grab a bite at Packo's."  
  
"East? Cibola's out west of here, son."  
  
"Not Cibola of the East."  
  
"So, you know about Crabapple Cove, huh, son?"  
  
"Yeah. I figure, why waste my time reading about it in books, when I can get a feel for it myself?"  
  
"I do see your point there. I've been researching it, but I want to do it in the field."  
  
"Well, hell, why don't you tag along with us? We've got room for one more."  
  
"Well, maybe I will, after we get properly introduced and all. Name's John, but all my friends call me 667."  
  
"Mine's Jim, but all my boys call me Tha Killa."  
  
"Well, Killa, let's get the hell out of here, and on to Cibola!"  
  
"All right!"  
  
"But first, a stop."  
  
"Where would this stop be?"  
  
"None other than Toldeo, Ohio, to grab a bite at the legendary Tony Packo's!"  
  
And with that, we set off. Horses do not provide fast transportation, but it worked for what we needed. To hell with 2002, right? We reached Toledo around sunset, and decided not to eat there that night, but to wait until the sun came up, so we could get a fresh start on our journey. The search for Cibola began on the 2nd of May, 2002. 


	2. Setting Out

A/N: This chapter is the actual beginning. Right before I worte this, I decided to introduce you to the characters and the story at the same time. Remember, *LONG* dialogue sessions will abound for this chapter, and especially the next one too.  
  
A/N 2: When I say Tony Packo's has the best dogs in the Midwest, I mean it. I've been there.  
  
Chapter 2: Setting Out  
  
5/2/2002  
  
We started from Tony Packo's around noon, after indulging each of our palates with the best dogs in the Midwest. This was not going to be a short journey, but we tried our best to make it to Maine as quick as possible. Until we reach Maine, I won't write too much about the journey, unless it is very important.  
  
5/7/2002  
  
We reached the Pennsylvania border today. Some of the boys are beginning to show their discord, some of which is probably influenced by the fact that we get strange looks from every car on the pike that passes our caravan.  
  
5/13/2002  
  
Apparently, it's Monday today. I really wouldn't have noticed it if not for the fact that every digital clock we pass has MONDAY all over it. We're somewhere in Pennsylvania, where I do not know. This has been a very boring trip so far. Some of the men are holding talks of leaving. They don't think I know, but I know. Tha Killa has almost stopped talking altogether. He just rides the wagon at the front of our caravan. Hopefully, we will find some excitement soon.  
  
5/15/2002  
  
Interesting day. Two men went and picked a fight with the local police officers who asked them where they were going. As a reward, they recieved 90 days. We decided to move on, as most of the others couldn't care less. 


	3. The Conspiracy Thoeries

A/N: This one is almost a fluke, but I needed a reason for why it would take two men and their contingent of 200 (not mentioned until this chapter) an entire month to reach Maine. Plus, a government conspiracy is very necessary for my plans for the characters from M*A*S*H scheduled to make an appearance. If you want to know who they are as of right now, e-mail me at im667@hotmail.com, and I'll e-mail you back with the list. R&R, please, and don't bother being nice. If you don't like it, say so. I can take it.  
  
A/N 2: I have a warning. Three words become very important for the rest of this story: suspension of disbelief. That means you have to forget any disbelief you may have about the events that take place, or else the story will not be able to progress any further.  
  
Chapter Three: The Conspiracy Theories  
  
5/20/2002  
  
I noticed today that one of our men was keeping much to himself last week, when we reached New York City. All the other boys were out seeing the sights, and we had given them two days there as a reward for making such good time. But this one man, named Blake, hadn't even left our camp. I approached him earlier today to talk to him.  
  
"Hey, Blake, what's up?"  
  
"Not much, Mr. 667."  
  
"Please, call me just 667, I ain't that important."  
  
"Ok."  
  
"So, why aren't you out with all the rest of the boys."  
  
"Just doing some thinking about this little venture out to Cibola."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Yeah, like how we started with 200 men, not including you and Tha Killa, and we're down to 150."  
  
"I knew we were losing guys, but I didn't know we'd lost a full quarter."  
  
"Yeah. There's the ten or so guys who got arrested in Pennsylvania, plus some guys have been leaving at night when the rest of us are asleep."  
  
"I know about those guys, I've been watching them at night."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Don't call me sir, please."  
  
"Ok. Well, I was doing some thinking, and I realized something."  
  
"What is that?"  
  
"Well, I was out for some time and went to a library yesterday."  
  
"I noticed that."  
  
"Well, I was reading about the town of Crabapple Cove, Maine. That's what you refer to as Cibola, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes, it is. Go on."  
  
"Well, on July 27, 1953, there was an article about the ending of the Korean War, and mentioning one Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce."  
  
"I see."  
  
"There is also another article, dated July 1, 1953, telling about the most famous doctor in Crabapple Cove's history, Hawkeye Pierce."  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"That's it. There were no more articles in the news, and all surrounding towns stopped running ads for businesses in Crabapple Cove, including one for the Finest Kind Fish Market and Medical Clinic, Co-run by Hawkeye Pierce, John McIntyre, and B.J. Hunnicutt."  
  
"So what are you saying?"  
  
"I had a dream last night."  
  
"And...?"  
  
"I saw a man there. He gave his name as B. F. Pierce."  
  
"I see."  
  
"He told me that we would not have all our current number when we finally reached our destination, and he told me to always stick with you."  
  
"Did he tell you how many men we would have?"  
  
"He told me that in all, 112 men would reach Crabapple Cove, but in two parties, one of 12, and one of 100."  
  
"Hmm. Well, I think this discussion was a good idea. It helped me open my eyes."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"No problem, Blake. Stick with it, man." 


	4. Cibola

A/N: This one is the setup for the rest of the story. Remember: SUSPENSION OF DISBELIEF.  
  
Chapter Four: Cibola  
  
5/24/2002  
  
After my discussion with Blake, I had a little chat with Tha Killa.  
  
"So, 667, what you're saying is that you believe this Blake character when he says that Hawkeye Pierce came to him in a dream?"  
  
"That's the problem. Hawkeye wasn't the one. Apparently Blake had another dream, and he said it was B. F. Pierce Jr. that prophesied for him."  
  
"And you believe it! I'm surprised at you, man."  
  
"And why?"  
  
"Because you believe in something without evidence!"  
  
"But I do have evidence. I checked the records. Crabapple Cove, Maine disappeared on July 2, 1953."  
  
"That could mean anything."  
  
"Even if I didn't have evidence..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Don't you believe in God?"  
  
"That doesn't mean anything here."  
  
"Yes it does. What else do you call it, hallucination? Twice?"  
  
"Well, what do you want me to think?"  
  
"I don't know. If I knew, I'd be a minister. I'm not. Maybe we're all on a wild goose chase. Maybe not. Maybe Sid Freedman was wrong. Maybe the personification of Jesus was inside Arnold Chandler. What does that say for the rest of us? What would happen if Jesus suddenly made himself known in the body of an average man? Would we be ready? Would we even be able to grasp the concept? I doubt it."  
  
"That is a good point, but still-"  
  
"You're not getting it. It took proof for me to believe in it, and that scared me. For twenty days, we've been traveling, from Michigan all the freaking way to New England, on what? Nothing more than faith. Just faith. And my own lack of faith scared the living hell out of me."  
  
"It's possible. I have been going on faith, and I'll keep going until I know the truth about Crabapple Cove."  
  
"Me too, Killa. Keep on keeping on, man."  
  
FROM THE JOURNAL OF THA KILLA  
  
6/1/2002  
  
We reached Maine about five days ago, and have been traveling up the coast ever since. We hit our furthest from the coast today, not long after high noon. We made camp on the edge of a wooded area. We decided to camp there for the night, and set in motions the camp foodstuffs. 667 walked towards the forest and away repeatedly for several hours, and about 1600 hours he tripped. No one took notice of it right away, but when he closely inspected the ground he tripped over, dug a little bit, then rushed into the woods, it caught everybody's attention. I heard murmurs through our little camp, most of the going along the lines of "I guess his faith ran out." I myself went over to where he had tripped, and discovered a sign partially buried in the dirt. I removed it, and read the inscription:  
  
CRABAPPLE COVE -  
  
Then I heard him, and saw him, though only God knows how, through the trees, and the one word that echoed through all of our ears for the next year:  
  
"CIBOLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" 


End file.
